


I like for you to be still

by mostlikelydefinentlymad



Series: until the last star falls [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: John Watson Has Feelings, John's poetry isn't that bad after all, Johnlock - Freeform, Johnlock poetry, Jolto, M/M, Sherlock Holmes and Feelings, poem number three is about major james sholto
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-27
Updated: 2015-09-27
Packaged: 2018-04-23 15:23:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4881895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mostlikelydefinentlymad/pseuds/mostlikelydefinentlymad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson writes poetry in his spare time and none of it is about his girlfriends but rather a mysterious man with kaleidoscope eyes and chiseled cheekbones.</p><p>You are like the night<br/>With its stillness and constellations<br/>Your silence is that of a star<br/>As remote and candid<br/>[Pablo Neruda]</p>
            </blockquote>





	I like for you to be still

**Poetry, courtesy of John H. Watson**

**NOT to be read by Sherlock Holmes**

1\. love is not an exact science, it cannot be measured in ounces or meters

it's a candle flickering in a crowded restaurant when everything fades to black 

save for a spectrum of dazzling colors and an innocence that I lost so long ago

it's desperation bleeding into every word and

the crescent indents on the palms of my hands that can attest to itching fingers

when I let the tiniest white lie drop off of my lips

_no, no I'm not..._

- _hypothesis_

 

2\. here's a secret

I'm a treasure trove of unspoken words

I took a shovel to my insides when I was only twelve

pressed my foot against it for leverage and hoped that if I dug deep enough to unearth every declaration of love

and every misguided feeling that labeled me as sick, perverted, fucked up in the head it might just work

because good boys don't push other boys down in the dirt and lick the salt of their lips

I take every memorized letter of the alphabet, string them together like christmas lights and bury them deep

hold my chin up high and go through women like cheap wine and cigars

so do I feel lucky?

ask me that question next week when I'm scraping blood out from under my fingernails

and pushing the shovel under my bed

_-I can't wash you away_

 

3\. I loved once

his name was magic on my tongue and his blue eyes filled every dream I ever brought to life

I stopped apologizing when he taught me that sometimes, love, sometimes it's okay to let go

and he planted _I love you_ and _someday we're going to be happy_ in the spaces between the here and now

I stitched his name under my skin and we made promises we couldn't keep

because war is a harsh mistress who'll leave you blind and calling his name

until your voice is hoarse but he never shows

_-I'm afraid you'll see my scars_

 

4\. life is for the living and I've been doomed since the day I crawled into this world

with anchors on my bones and a chip on my shoulder

so don't ask me why I'll always choose to jump on that grenade for you

_-you're worth dying for_

 

5\. transparent, raw and exposed under curious eyes

splayed out in front of you like a trophy and you're the hunter 

fear freezes you in place

the words  _you're my whole goddamned world_ scrawled under every _we're not a couple_ and printed in small font _\- don't you dare hurt him_

build up in my throat until I'm shaking with it

love, I'm mounted to the wall with your name blending like chamomile and lavender on my lips but you're forever turning away

and I'm forever hoping for the day that you'll see the real me

_-she was right_

 

6\. long eyelashes on pale skin, hands fidgeting in your sleep, a strong silent presence that demands attention

these are what my dreams are made of

my fingertips on your hips, your lips leaving a wet path along my jaw, arching warm skin against skin

twenty four vertebrae and naming each one like constellations in the night sky

moonlight casting a tilted halo onto curls the color of darkness

and your body clicking into place against mine like a jigsaw puzzle

  _-I dreamed that you loved me back_

 

7\. I'm putting down roots

twisting and turning, squeezing and releasing

carving your name into rough edges with the tip of my blade

I'm building platforms and staircases with every tread leading back to you

 _one step_ \- the creases on your forehead when you're thinking

 _two steps_ \- the weigh of your palm against mine

 _three steps_ \- violin concertos at three a.m.

 _four steps_ \- sharp cheekbones like cold marble

like a phoenix we'll rise up and kiss the sky together

until the last star falls

_-I want to build it on the surface_

 

8\. faded voices blend together

they repeat the phrase _I'm sorry_ as if that'll ever be enough

as if my heart didn't just float toward the earth like a feather in shades of navy blue and crimson

and I want to replace the blood in my veins with alcohol

because you'll never know what losing you feels like

and I can't forget

_-throw my body to the sea and let me drown_

 

9\. she's not you but I slipped a ring on that finger

stammered as I asked her to be my bride

and the entire time my heart kept repeating -

_what if_

_what if_

_what if_

oh darling, I spent too many nights with aching hands clutched around a bottle of whiskey

and turning your name into a holy shrine until loving you became my religion

and we're back at the start

yet I'm still asking myself

_what if_

_-I'll never know_

 

10\. I want to say that I'm happy and shes all I've ever wanted

but I tried to knit those words into a beautiful scarf that matched the color of your eyes

and it kept coming unraveled

 _lilac, lilac, lilac  -_ my heart said

_love, love, love_

it asks about you all the time

_-choking on the things I cannot say_

 

11\. we are Hyacinthus and Apollo reborn

crying [_AI, AI_](http://www.theoi.com/Heros/Hyakinthos.html) until our lungs are reduced to ash

cinders at our feet and smudged across your forehead as we claw the air, gasping and panting

choking out rehearsed phrases - _I think it could work_ and _name her after me because I'm_ _never coming home_

until I crave the dull scrape of a shovel over weary bones

because nothing could've prepared me for this

and I'll never be ready to let you go

_-you told me you'd never leave, you lied_

 

12\. you were my best composition

_-S.H._

 

13\. I'm coming home _  
_

- _one bedroom, a single heartbeat & him_

 

 **Note from Sherlock Holmes:** John Hamish Watson, you were worth the wait. Apologies for snooping. 

**Author's Note:**

> title is from a poem by Pablo Neruda hellopoetry.com/poem/9922/i-like-for-you-to-be-still/


End file.
